


something wicked

by killerqueenwrites



Series: family business – supernatural au [3]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Coma, Found Family, Gen, Hospitalization, Hurt Peter Parker, Monster of the Week, Peter Parker Whump, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Teen for language, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-01 05:56:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20810195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killerqueenwrites/pseuds/killerqueenwrites
Summary: "Better," Mr Stark says."Really?""Much better."“Good enough to go with you next time?”A pause, barely a second, but enough for Peter to see hesitation flash behind his eyes. “Maybe. We’ll see.”or, Peter wants to be allowed out on cases, Tony wants to keep him safe and Rhodey just wants them both to stop fighting. If only it were that simple.





	something wicked

**Author's Note:**

> S[IDER-MAN IS BACK IN THE MCU!! thank goodness honestly, it would have been super dumb without him and sony doing yet another reboot would have just been asking for trouble
> 
> this is part of an au series, so i would advise reading the first part.
> 
> normal warnings for guns, violence, monsters, talk of death. this fic also contains little instances of children getting sick and being hospitalised, so be careful if you're sensitive to that.

“Block!”

Peter ducks away from the fist coming at him.

“I said block, not duck.”

A leg swings round, aiming to take him out at the ankles, and he barely gets out of the way. “I didn’t get hit, did I?”

“This time.”

And then he’s flat on his back, gasping for air with no memory of falling. Mr Stark glares down at him, unimpressed.

“Can I take a break?”

“The things we hunt don’t stop for _breaks_.”

“I _know_ that.” Peter tries his best not to whine; the last thing he wants to do is come off like a kid. “But we’ve been doing this for hours.”

At that, Mr Stark blinks and checks his watch. “Oh. Yeah, okay. Probably dinner time, actually. Sorry, kid, lost track of time.”

Peter accepts the hand up, wincing at all the places he knows are going to be sore tomorrow.

“What do you want? Pizza? Chinese?”

“Think it’s Rhodey’s turn to pick.” Peter scoops up his water bottle and takes a long drink.

“Yeah, you might be right.”

Peter feels it more than he hears it: a strange rush of air, heading straight for his back–

He drops and spins, catching the thing by the ankle and yanking, hard. Mr Stark crashes to the floor.

“Oh my God!” Peter drops his foot. “I’m sorry, I–“

Mr Stark grins up at him, amused and…proud? “Better.”

Peter flounders for a moment. “Really?”

“Much better.” Mr Stark climbs to his feet. “Okay, tomorrow we’ll take another look at weapons. Sound good?”

“Yep. Uh-huh. No – no problem. Sounds, um, great. Yeah. Awesome. Super-duper–“

“Kid.” Mr Stark’s hand lands on his shoulder. “You’ve seen the kinds of things we’re up against. You need to learn to defend yourself against this shit.”

“Yeah, I know. You keep telling me that, and you won’t tell me _why_.”

“You chose to be here,” Mr Stark says. There’s no anger there, just reason.

“So I could _help_ you. I want to help people, not just defend myself.”

“Okay,” Mr Stark says, the way he always does when Peter brings up going on cases with them, “but both of those involve learning to use weapons, so what’s your point?”

_Ben. Ben is the point._ “I just…don’t like guns.”

Mr Stark, thank God, just nods. “That’s okay. We’ll go over the knives. You were getting pretty good at those.”

“Good enough to go with you next time?”

A pause, barely a second, but enough for Peter to see hesitation flash behind his eyes. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

* * *

They shower quickly before dinner while Rhodey drives to get takeout.

“Imagine living somewhere you can’t get delivery,” Peter says, horizontal on the couch.

“Don’t have to,” Tony retorts. Who decided it was a good idea to legally adopt a teenager? Oh, yeah: him.

Technically, it’s not legal, but as far as the state is concerned, it is. He’ll have to ask Barton if there’s any way to officially (or unofficially) unadopt a kid.

“Well, now neither do I. You guys have to _drive_ to get food–“

“Keep that up, and I’ll send you next time.”

“Can’t drive.”

“Right.” Tony should have known that. “When are you sixteen?”

“August tenth.”

Probably should have known that, too.

“What do hunters even get for their birthday? Knives?”

_Dead_. Tony swallows and takes a drink. “Guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

“Can’t wait.” Peter stills, his perpetual energy seeming to bleed out of him. “‘S’gonna be my first birthday without May. Second without Ben.”

_Oh_. Tony walks around the counter and dithers by the couch. Peter sits up, like he knows exactly what Tony‘s thinking. (He does.) “I’m sorry, kid. I wish I could say it isn’t gonna be shitty, but…”

“Yeah.”

Tony sits beside him and tries not to stiffen in surprise when the kid leans against him. Peter is so damn tactile, not just after close calls but all the time, and Tony wishes he could say he minded.

He searches for a distraction. Anything. “How’s that reading going? Rhodey set you ghosts, right?”

“Uh-huh. Says ghosts are spirits – part of the soul – that stick around after death.”

“Good. Why?”

“Um, if there’s something unresolved about their death. Or they’re angry. So they attach themselves to something or someone.”

“You got it.” God, he sounds like a dad. “And how do you deal with them?”

“Salt ‘n burn. Usually their bones.”

“Home run, kid.”

Peter smiles shyly, but it’s hesitant.

“What’s up?” Tony frowns when Peter presses his forehead into his shoulder. “Out with it, bud.”

“Do…d’you think May’s a ghost?”

“No, kid.” Tony’s voice is firm. “We found the thing that killed her. It’s dead. We set the body on fire, sent it back to whatever hell it came crawling out of.”

“But what if she’s angry at me?” There’s so much _hurt_ in the question, so much fear, that Tony feels an instinctive need to make it better.

“Why on earth would you think that?”

“Because…because…” Peter turns his head so his answer is muffled in Tony’s sleeve. “Because I moved on so fast. Because I left Queens. Because I…I couldn’t save her.”

“Peter.” Tony’s hand hovers uselessly for a moment before coming to rest on Peter’s head. They’re there now, apparently. “It wasn’t your fault, kid.”

“But–“

“No. You helped us find the thing before it hurt anyone else. You _chose_ to move out here to learn how to keep yourself safe.”

Peter makes a noise of protest but doesn’t say anything.

“And I know it’s only been a few months, but you’re moving on because you have to, okay? You’re not forgetting her. You’re just living.”

“How do you know?”

Tony sighs. “Because I lost my mom. Not long before I met you.”

“Oh. ‘M sorry.”

“It’s okay. I wallowed for a bit, and then…”

“Then?”

“Then I realised other people needed me more.” And _that_ was dangerously close to an emotional admission. Enough of that.

Rhodey opens the door, hands full of takeout, and does a piss-poor job of hiding his grin when he sees Tony practically pinned to the couch by a clingy teenager. “Hey, guys.”

“Hey, man. What’ve we got?”

“Got Thai. Usual place.”

“Awesome.” Peter sits up halfway, resting his chin on the back of the couch.

Tony pokes him in the side, laughing at the shocked giggle Peter lets out. “If May were a ghost, the only thing she’d be doing is haunting me for letting you live off takeout.”

“She’d be a hypocrite,” Peter says with a grin. “You never saw her try to cook.”

He’s smiling again. That’s something.

* * *

“Think I got another case,” Rhodey says quietly when they’re all slumped on the couch, halfway comatose after their dinner. Peter has his nose buried in a thick book, but he’s clearly listening.

“Where?” Tony picks at the remains of his dinner.

“Danbury, Connecticut. Not far.”

“What’s it looking like?”

“Four children in hospital so far. One every three days, like clockwork. Doctors can’t find anything in their blood, on their bodies. They just drop, and they’re not waking up.”

“Shit,” Tony sighs. “I have no idea what that could be.”

“Head over and find out as we go?”

“Gonna have to.”

“Mr Stark…”

_Shit._

“This doesn’t sound like it’s too dangerous.”

“No.” Tony lets out a bitter laugh. “No, they never do.”

“But–“

“No, Peter.” This happens every time a new case comes up, and every damn time Tony sounds more like Howard than he ever wanted to.

“But you said earlier I’m doing well in training!”

“Better. I said better.”

Peter flinches, barely, but Tony still hates himself.

Well, whatever keeps the kid alive.

“Tony, he might be right.”

Tony whips around to face his friend, stinging with betrayal.

“Not to fight, Tones, but get some experience with working cases, you know? Talking to people, doing research, breaking it down. He’s gotta start sometime.”

“Yeah, how about never?”

“Why not? It was your idea for him to come live with us.”

“Because…” Tony swallows down the ‘We need to keep him safe’. He’s not going to tell Peter about the danger he suspects he’s in, not now and hopefully not ever.

Unfortunately for him, Rhodey knows him better than he knows himself. “Exactly. You got nothing. Kid?”

Peter’s head snaps up, his eyes brimming with barely concealed hope.

“Go grab a bag. Remember how we showed you to pack?”

“Yeah. Uh-huh.”

“We’re leaving first thing.”

“Awesome! Thank you!”

Tony watches him bolt up the stairs and tries to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach.

* * *

Car journeys are _long_.

For Peter, who’s lived in New York all his life, a forty-five-minute commute on public transport is normal. A twenty-minute drive for takeout is not. This is _torture_.

He manages to sleep through most of it, because they were all awake and ready to go by half five and his body was _not_ a fan of that. (Mr Stark turns down his music when he sees Peter starting to nod off, which is…nice.)

But he still wakes up and they’re still in the same car on a similar-looking road and he’s bored, bored out of his mind. He chose this, he reminds himself, he wanted to come. He’s going to help people.

“Hey,” Mr Stark says quietly, breaking the silence in the car. “We’re about twenty minutes out. We’ll find a hotel and get ourselves sorted, then we’ll do some sleuthing.”

_Finally._

Rhodey snorts. “You’re not Sherlock fucking Holmes.”

“Whatever, man. Get the IDs.”

Peter watches them, marvelling at how well they work together, passing badges and wallets and licenses back and forth. It’s almost instinctual, like silent communication; he can’t wait to see them fighting.

“Okay, so I’ll go to the hospital. Yeah, here’s my CDC badge. Why don’t you take the kid and see if there’s anything odd at any of the victims’ houses?”

Mr Stark sighs, just to let everyone know one more time that he’s not happy about this. “Sure. What cover could we use, Pete?”

Cool. So they’re still testing him. “Um…journalists?”

Rhodey grins. “That’ll do it.” When Mr Stark is focusing on an intersection, he shoots Peter a thumbs-up.

“Yeah, reporters will work. Not you, kid. You’ll have to be an intern.”

Peter groans, throwing his head back against the seat. “I’m not getting you coffee.”

Mr Stark flashes him a sharp smile in the rear view mirror. “Suck it up, babyface.”

“I hate you.”

* * *

They drop Rhodey off at the town’s main hospital and head for a decent hotel. Tony, to Peter’s dismay, asks for adjoining rooms.

“Oh, my God, I’m not a baby.”

“You’re fifteen, _child_. You’re lucky I’m not asking for a twin room and a camp bed in the corner.”

The receptionist smiles as she hands over their keys. “You and your son look very alike.”

Peter visibly short-circuits. Tony recovers quicker, smiling back and pushing the kid towards the elevator.

“This is a nice hotel,” Peter manages, once he’s recovered from _that_. (Tony has to refrain from pointing out that technically, legally, he is the kid’s dad.)

“Sure is.”

“You’re not, like, hitmen, are you? Supernatural assassins? Monster mercs?”

“I think you’re saying words, but I have no idea what your point is.”

“Where do you guys get the money for this?”

“One day, when we’re not in a rush, I’ll tell you.” Tony’s never been more grateful for the end of an elevator ride. He points Peter to his door. “Go freshen up, quick, and we’ll find some incident sites to scope out.”

Peter perks up at that. Jesus, he’s excited.

Tony’s phone buzzes and he answers it quickly. “Rhodey? How’s it looking there?”

_“There was another attack last night, Tony. Two girls. Sisters, shared a bedroom. They’re both alive, too, but it’s not looking good.” _Rhodey sighs. _“Only bright side is, we have a fresh scene to investigate. I’ll text you the address.”_

“Thanks. I’ll send you the address of the hotel we’re in, too. See you later.”

_“See you.”_

Six kids. With a sigh of his own, Tony raps on the door to Peter’s room. “Kid? Get your ass in gear. We have work to do.”

* * *

“Mr Davis?”

“Yes?” The man that answers the door looks tired, drawn. “Can I help you?”

“Mr Davis, I’m Thomas White, from the Danbury Post, and this is my intern, Ben Fitzpatrick. I’m so sorry about your family.” Mr Stark gives the man a reassuring smile. “We’re doing a feature about this mystery disease, to spread awareness, hopefully help other parents notice it before it gets too serious. Do you have any information for us? Anything at all would be helpful – but don’t feel as if you have to, I can understand this is a very difficult time for you.”

“No, no, of course.” Mr Davis beckons them in. “Thank you for trying to raise awareness, I – I’d hate for any other parents to go through what we had to – well, what we are going through.”

“Of course,” Mr Stark agrees easily. “We really appreciate this – if you have to leave at any time, don’t hesitate to kick us out.”

“Oh, well, my wife’s there right now.”

“Right, right. Shall we sit?” Mr Stark gestures to the couch.

“Yes, of course. Sorry. My head’s a little…”

“That’s completely understandable,” Peter says, trying to hide his nerves. “Mr Davis, why doesn’t Mr White stay here to talk to you, and – if it’s all right with you – I can take a look upstairs?”

“In their bedroom?”

“Yes, if there’s no problem with it.”

“No, no, of course not.” Mr Davis looks bewildered, but he waves Peter towards the staircase while Mr Stark gives him a subtle thumbs up. “Uh, the girls’ room is the first on your left.”

Grinning to himself, Peter bounds up the stairs.

It’s cold in the room. Freezing, in fact. The window is open, but even so, it’s April. There’s no reason for it to be frigid in here when it’s much warmer outside.

The room looks normal, nothing out of the ordinary. Peter snaps a few pictures anyway, just in case Mr Stark can spot something he’s missed. With a shrug, he wanders over to the window and glances around.

“Holy shit.”

* * *

“Good initiative in there,” Tony says as they pull away from the house. Peter beams at the praise. “Dad didn’t know much, so what’d you find?”

“Open window,” Peter says instantly.

“Right, which Mr Davis swears he closed and latched. Anything else? Anything that doesn’t point to it being a common cold, for example?”

“Un-huh.” Peter pulls out his phone and swipes through a few photos. “This was on the window ledge outside the girls’ bedroom.”

Tony glances to his right as they wait at a red light, trying to focus on the screen. “Hang on – hold it still – what the hell–?“

There, a sharp contrast against the white-painted window frame, is a black handprint, its fingers long and reaching. No human has a hand like that.

“What is that? Painted, burnt?”

Peter shakes his head. “Rotted.”

* * *

They pick up burgers and reach the hotel at the same time as Rhodey, Peter still buzzing after working the case. He took initiative! He found something helpful!

“What we got, man?” Mr Stark asks around a mouthful of cheeseburger.

“Some weird shit,” Rhodey says. “I spoke to the paediatric doctor and he said those two girls are cases five and six. I got the addresses of all the victims, and look.” He pushes a map marked with crosses onto the table. “The hospital is right at the centre. Almost like that’s where the thing is based.”

“Someone at the hospital is a monster?” Peter says.

“Maybe.” Mr Stark offers him some fries. “What about the kids, Rhodey? What kind of symptoms are we looking at?”

“Well, it comes on suddenly, as most monster attacks do.” Rhodey sighs. “The kids are all left in comas – weak brain activity, organs shutting down. The doctor’s giving them a couple of weeks at most, if nothing changes.”

“Shit. And it’s only kids, right?”

“Only kids,” Rhodey agrees. “It’s almost like, whatever it is, it’s draining their life force, or something. Their energy.”

“Like a Dementor,” Peter says, and squirms when they both turn questioning eyes on him. “Like in _Harry Potter_? They suck out your soul.”

“Well, if we see any ghoul-like apparitions wearing a hood and a cape swooping around town, we’ll let you know,” Mr Stark says. “Right. I say tonight, we go stake out the hospital, try and get a look at this thing, figure out what it is and where it’s hiding–“

“And how we can kill it,” Rhodey agrees.

Peter nods. “Okay, what do you want me to bring?”

Mr Stark scoffs. “No, you’re not coming.”

“What?”

“Research only, kid. You did good today, and now it’s time for the adults to handle the serious bit.”

“Bur…” Peter looks at Rhodey, who holds his hands up and doesn’t get involved. “No, come on. I’m – I’m here to learn, right? I can’t do anything here.”

“You’re not ready,” Mr Stark says bluntly, in the same tone as, _“Better. I said better.”_

“Then why am I here?”

“To get experience–“

“I don’t mean _here_! I mean why did you offer to let me live with you if you won’t let me _do_ anything? You want me to just sit out?”

Mr Stark’s expression doesn’t change. “That’s right. I do. Legally, I’m responsible for you–“

“You don’t have to make it sound like such an obligation!” Peter yells. “Sorry I’m such a chore for you, I guess!”

“Peter, no, that’s not what he means–“

“Then what does he mean? Why bother teaching me to fight if you won’t let me _fight_?”

This time, something does show on Mr Stark’s face; it’s fear, but Peter’s too pissed off to care.

“I want to help people like you helped me! Is that getting lost in translation somewhere?”

“That’s enough.”

“My aunt was killed by a monster – I want to make sure that doesn’t happen to other people, and you won’t fucking let me–!”

“I said that’s enough!” Mr Stark snaps, and it’s like Peter’s seeing him for the first time all over again: cold, detached, dangerous. “You’re staying here until we get back. Don’t even think about trying to leave, because I _will_ know.”

“Screw you,” Peter mutters, and storms into his own room, slamming the adjoining door behind him. His chest is burning with something – anger, frustration. He’s not a kid, and he hates being treated like one.

“Well,” he hears Rhodey say, “that went well.”

Mr Stark sighs, long and exhausted. “Just pack your shit and meet me in the car.”

* * *

They load up the car and make the drive in stiff silence, dressed in improvised janitor outfits with weapons concealed in every conceivable pocket.

They make it inside without incident. Only once do they have to duck into an empty office to avoid someone who might recognise Rhodey from earlier, a harried-looking doctor who breathes in deeply as he passes them but doesn’t break his stride.

“That’s the paediatrician,” Rhodey murmurs. “Don’t know what he’s still doing here this late, but I guess he has his work cut out.”

Tony just nods, and they continue walking.

It’s on their second lap of the hospital that Rhodey finally speaks again. “Don’t you think you were a little harsh with Peter earlier?”

Tony frowns. “No?”

“Come on, man. The kid was practically shitting rainbows when you got back because you paid him a compliment, and then you took a crap all over that? He just wanted to help, and you thought he was doing okay, by all accounts.”

“He is doing okay. But that’s easy stuff, okay? He’s great at talking to people, charming them, getting on their good side, finding clues. He’s not ready for actual fighting.”

“You’ve been training him.”

“Yep, and I say he’s not ready, especially not against an as-yet unidentified and as such possibly unkillable monster.”

Here’s the thing: Peter isn’t bad. He’s good, actually, smart and resourceful with a demeanour that suggests he can be calm in life-threatening situations with a bit of coaching. He has a brain like a sponge, soaking up every bit of information he’s given, and he’s quick, agile, building his skill with weapons every day. He has all the makings of a great hunter, and yet Tony still balks at the thought of letting him near a monster.

Rhodey stares at him for a moment before he rolls his eyes. “There’re shorter ways to say you don’t want him getting hurt.”

_Dammit_. “Fine! I don’t want a literal child fighting the spawn of hell. Happy?”

“I warned you,” Rhodey says, “when you wanted him to come with us, I told you he’d have to grow up like a warrior. It was your idea to take him in, Tones. Teach him to defend himself, right?”

“Defend himself, nothing else!” Tony hisses. It echoes down the empty corridor. “I am _not_ taking a child and making him into a soldier! I am not my father!”

Silence.

“From the moment I could sit up, hold something, wave my arm, I was trained. I was raised a warrior, nothing more than an obedient little weapon in Howard’s fucking arsenal. I’m not doing the same to Peter.” He breaks away, breathing hard.

“Of course you’re not your dad, Tony.” Rhodey’s hands lands on his shoulder. “You’re so much better than he could ever have hoped to be.”

Tony can’t answer.

“It’s okay to say you care about the kid. You snapped ‘cause you were worried, yeah? Just explain that to him.”

“Because it’s that easy, right?” Tony groans. “Look, for years – years, man – all I had was you and my mom – and now she’s gone, and God knows you can look after yourself. Except now I have this other person, directly in the line of fire with me, and I’m supposed to protect him, but what happens when I can’t?”

“That’s when he’s gonna have to look after himself, and he can only do that if you show him how. You gotta prepare him.”

“Stupid fucking kid,” Tony mutters. “See what he’s done to me?”

Rhodey stares at him sadly. “One of these days, you’re gonna realise that letting yourself care about people isn’t a weakness.”

They walk in silence, making another lap, and another, until Tony checks his watch to see it’s nearly two-thirty.

“I don’t think it’s here, Rhodey.”

“Dammit,” Rhodey mutters, “I wanted to be done with this–“ He breaks off into a jaw-cracking yawn. “Ugh. Guess it’s time to wrap up. Get back to the kid.”

“Yeah. I’ll see if he’s still awake. Never go to bed on an argument, right?”

“If he has any sense, he’ll have been asleep for hours.”

Tony sighs. “We’ve never sounded more like an old married couple than we just did.”

* * *

They get back to the hotel around three, tired and frustrated. Rhodey collapses straight into bed, still in his janitor’s clothes, but Tony walks quietly over to the door adjoining the two rooms.

“Peter?” He knocks quietly. “You awake?”

The room is dark when he steps inside. Peter is on the bed closest to the window, lying on his back with the covers bunched around his feet as if he’d kicked them away in his sleep.

“Okay,” Tony whispers. All he has to do now is leave, go to bed. He doesn’t.

He crosses the room, wary of waking Peter up, but the kid doesn’t stir, so Tony pulls the duvet up to his shoulders. “It’s cold in here, Pete. Don’t want you catching anything.”

Tony Stark is tucking in a kid. Damn Rhodey for being right.

“You’re turning me soft, you stupid kid,” Tony mumbles, and then, because he hasn’t been enough of a parent already, he reaches out and brushes some of Peter’s curls off his forehead. “Just…sorry. About earlier. We’ll talk in the morning, yeah?”

He turns to leave, too tired for his brain to catch up with how still and pale Peter was, how cold his room was. He just wants sleep.

* * *

Morning comes, and Tony’s charitable mood flees with the night’s dark.

“Parker, if you want breakfast, you better be up in the next five minutes.” Tony closes the door over and shakes his head. “Goddamn teenagers.”

“It was your idea to adopt him, Tones.”

“Yeah, well…” Tony shrugs and turns back to the door between their rooms. “Right, I’m going in. Parker!”

No answer.

“You better be decent!” He throws the door open and strides over to Peter’s bed, yanking the covers back. “I said up.”

Peter doesn’t stir, not even a twitch.

“I’ll fill up a glass from the bathroom and dump it all over your head, don’t think I won’t.”

Nothing.

“Peter?” Tony reaches out and shakes his shoulder. “Enough with the teenager crap, okay? I was a dick, you were a brat. Let’s talk once I have some coffee in me.”

Still nothing.

“I’m sorry. Is that what you want to hear? Point made. Get up.” Tony taps Peter’s cheek, only to flinch at how icy-cold his skin is. “…Pete? You leave the window open?”

“Tony.”

“Is it seriously a thing that teenagers can’t wake up before ten? Because–“

“Tony!” Rhodey’s voice cracks like a whip. He’s standing by the open window, his body tense.

“What?” Tony crosses the room. “What is it?”

On the windowsill, stark against the white paint, is a long, black handprint.

* * *

“Shit,” Rhodey hisses as he throws the car around another corner. “Fuck.”

Peter’s forehead knocks against Tony’s collarbone, cold and solid.

“Careful!”

“Sorry, sorry – shit!”

Not for the first time in the last few minutes, Tony presses his fingers against Peter’s neck. His pulse is weak and thready but still there. Peter’s still there.

“Hold on, kid,” Tony whispers into the top of Peter’s head. “Just hang in there for me.” He pretends to ignore Rhodey’s worried glances in the rear view mirror.

He’s in the backseat, cradling Peter’s limp, icy-cold body as Rhodey breaks every speed limit to get them to the hospital, because they were stupid and careless and left Peter alone and the thing they were supposed to be hunting got him.

_It got Peter it got Peter it got Peter–_

“How far?”

“Two minutes,” Rhodey says. “They’re still gonna want ID. Which ones?”

“Give me the Parkers. When he wakes up, he’ll be confused enough without having to remember a different name.”

_When he wakes up. When._

“So, you’ll be his dad, yeah?”

“Legally–“

“I _know_, Tony!” Rhodey wrenches the wheel and they skid into the hospital parking lot. “I’ll bring your IDs. Go, get him inside. Quick.”

Tony must look half-mad, sprinting into the hospital with a teenager still in pyjamas clutched in his arms.

“Sir?” The nurse at reception leaps to her feet. “Sir, what’s–?”

“My kid,” Tony gasps out, not even collected enough to register that the lie came far too easily for it to be a lie. “He won’t – he isn’t–“

She nods calmly – too calm – and leans over to the intercom. “Doctor Miller? Doctor Miller, we have an emergency at reception.” Her smile is reassuring, almost pitying. “He’ll be in good hands now, sir. They’ll take him up to be examined – didn’t you think of calling an ambulance?”

Tony shakes his head.

“Not to worry, you’re here now. How long has he been like this?”

How long? How long was he lying in his bed while Tony slept, oblivious?

“I …I don’t know, I don’t–“

“Okay, don’t panic, sir. We’ll run some tests, find out what’s wrong with him.”

There’s a commotion down the corridor and the doctor Rhodey had pointed out last night runs up, a gurney at his heels. “This is your son?”

Tony manages a jerky nod.

“Okay, just set him down there. What’s his name?”

“Peter. Parker. Peter Parker.”

“How old?”

“Fifteen.” _He’s a kid, just a kid, please help him–_

“Mr Parker, put him down, please.”

But Tony’s body won’t do it, won’t allow him to let go. He needs to keep Peter close, keep him safe.

“Sir. We need to examine him as quickly as possible. We have to take him.”

Tony swallows. “Okay. Okay.” He gently rests Peter on the metal gurney, barely warmer than he is, and almost as soon as he lets go, they’re running, shouting, and Peter is gone.

He’s gone.

“Oh, shit,” Tony mutters. He staggers to the side of the corridor, feeling his way to a chair more than anything else. His breaths are short, choppy – why can’t he breathe?

He barely notices a familiar arm slide around his shoulders.

“I got you, man.”

Tony finally lets himself break. “Oh God, oh God–“

“Hey, breathe. You gotta breathe. You’re no good to Peter passed out yourself, okay?”

Peter. God.

“Breathe. Tony. Tony? Breathe.” Rhodey sighs. “Listen…none of the other kids were older than nine.”

Tony tugs on his hair, focusing on the pulling sensation. “Okay?”

“The schedule was off, too. It’s supposed to feed tomorrow night. Plus, our hotel is a bit further away from the hospital than its usual pattern.”

“…what are you saying, Rhodes?”

“It went for Peter specifically,” Rhodey says, sounding almost apologetic. “I think we pissed it off.”

“Oh, Jesus.”

Peter could be dying. Peter was attacked, and Tony wasn’t there. He was attacked as a warning, and if Tony had just been good enough to find the fucking thing already, he’d be fine.

“I want it dead,” he mumbles. “It’s dead, Rhodey. You hear me?”

“I hear you, man. We’re gonna get it. We’re gonna figure out what it is.”

It could be hours or mere moments before an unfamiliar nurse walks up to them. “Mr Parker?”

“Yeah, hi.” Tony winces at the way his voice rasps.

“Your son is on the ward now, if you’d like to come and see him.” She gestures for him to follow and he does, without question.

_Peter Peter Peter–_

“What’s wrong with him? Is he okay? What–?”

“I’m afraid he’s in a coma, Mr Parker.”

Tony should have expected this, shouldn’t have been surprised in the slightest, but it still feels like his whole world is falling out from under him. “Like – like those other kids?”

“I’m afraid so.” She smiles sympathetically and indicates a door at the end of the corridor. “He’s in the last bed on the left. Push the call button by his bed if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” Rhodey says as her footsteps disappear again. “Hey, you wanna be alone?”

“No,” Tony croaks. “Don’t.”

“Okay, I’m right here.”

It’s quiet on the ward, deathly silent. Each kid is still and pale, hooked up to far too many machines, purple bruises under their eyes.

And then they reach Peter.

“Hey, buddy.” Tony’s amazed his voice doesn’t even waver. “Bit of a mess here, huh?”

Peter doesn’t stir.

“We’re gonna figure this out, kid, I promise.” He reaches out, brushes his fingers over Peter’s forehead – too cold, too pale, crumpled up like he’s in pain, even unconscious. “I promise.”

* * *

‘Researching’ this time around means Rhodey frantically juggling his laptop, his phone and three books while Tony slumps on his bed and stares blankly at the wall.

He needs to be doing something but his kid could be dying and the last thing they’d done was have an argument and he keeps calling Peter ‘his kid’ and Peter could be dying–

Rhodey snaps his fingers. “What did the kid call it?”

“What?”

“He made a reference to something – Harry…?”

“_Harry Potter_?” Tony stretches. “Yeah, he called it a, uh, Tormentor? Dementor?”

“Dementor.” Rhodey turns back to his laptop, typing furiously.

_I should be there._ The thought comes unbidden, but it’s there now, and there’s nothing Tony can do about it. _He could be dying. I should be with him._

_He could die._ Fuck.

“Tony. Tony, I think I got it.” Rhodey taps his arm without looking up from his laptop. “Lots of people have compared Dementors to the legend of the shtriga, a vampiric witch from Albanian folklore. It is traditionally portrayed as sucking the blood of children, but in some legends it consumes their life force instead. It can disguise itself as human and it never kills all in one go; instead, it keeps its victims alive for long periods of time, and feeds off them slowly until they’re dead.”

“That’s it.” _That thing hurt my kid_, Tony thinks, and surprises himself with the ferocious anger that accompanies the thought. “How do we find it?”

“Don’t know, but it’s probably still someone at the hospital, right?”

“‘Keeps them alive…’” Tony echoes. “It would probably keep them close, too, right? Make it easier to keep feeding – oh, shit!”

“What?”

“The doctor!”

Rhodey stares at him for a long moment. “Shit.”

* * *

“You sure this is his address?” Rhodey says.

“I’m sorry, do you think I hacked the wrong hospital records?” Tony shrugs, gestures at the dilapidated house in front of them. “I mean, guess an evil vampiric witch wouldn’t have much time for DIY, right? There’s definitely not a _person_ living here.”

Rhodey still looks sceptical, but he checks his gun and follows Tony inside.

“What did the lore say about killing it?”

They move through the kitchen, wrinkling their noses at the smell: musty, damp, _old_. “Undecided. Some stories say they’re invulnerable, some say they can be killed when they feed.”

“Well, that’s awesome–“

Something moves above them, floorboards creaking over their heads.

“Upstairs,” Rhodey mouths. “I’ll go.”

Tony nods and moves to the next room. Everything is coated in a thick layer of dust and grime, like nothing’s been in this house for years.

He hears a step behind him, too light to be Rhodey’s, and whips around with his gun up.

The figure is hunched over, a dark hood hiding its face, and all he can think is ‘_really?’ _That’s quickly followed by _‘it does look like a Dementor’_ and he has to force down a hysterical giggle. Of course the kid was right.

“So you found me?” it rasps. “First hunters to get so close. You can understand why I had to warn you off, but apparently you didn’t get the message.”

Tony aims for where he thinks its head is, but the thing just laughs, a horrible, dry, wheezing sound.

“It’s cute you think you can kill me,” it hisses, “but if you did? You could wave goodbye to any of those kids waking up. Even yours.”

Tony clenches his jaw.

“That’s right. He was so scared. They always are, of course, but he knew what was coming. Mm, his life force… there’s something so interesting about it…”

In the split second that Tony freezes, the creature pounces, knocking him to the floor with a gasp. His gun skitters away.

“Children have so much more potential energy, so much more life to give,” it snarls, “but I’ll make an exception for you. You have been incredibly annoying.”

It lifts its head and Tony recoils at the face under its hood, shrivelled and sunken with a gaping mouth, sucking in _something_–

His left hand, scrabbling frantically, finds cool metal, and without pausing to think, he whips the gun up, around, fires.

The thing screams once, a horrible piercing shriek, and crumples. Rhodey appears from nowhere, swinging his leg to kick it away.

“Oh, shit,” Tony says, “oh, shit.”

“I think you got it, man–“

“It’s dead?”

“Yeah.” Rhodey toes the pile gingerly. “Yeah, pretty sure.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Hey, you okay?”

“I killed it. What if – what about the kids?” _What about Peter?_

“Is that what it said? If it dies, the kids die?”

Tony nods jerkily, staring at the crumpled corpse in front of him. It’s dead. Has he just killed Peter?

“Okay, man. It’s okay–“

“No. No. No no no–“

“You had to take that shot, Tones–“

“I know, I know, but – God–“

“It was probably lying.” Rhodey grabs Tony’s shoulders, calming him, grounding. “Okay? You can’t trust things like that–“

_Peter might be dead he could be dead–_

Tony’s phone rings shrilly, jolting him out of his quickly-spiralling thoughts. He scrambles to answer it. “Hello?”

_“Mr Parker?”_

“Yes, yes, speaking.” He listens, trying to calm his breathing as the person on the other end speaks. “He – he what? Okay, okay, Jesus – I’m coming right now – yeah – Rhodey, come on! Shit. Shit, I’ll be right there.”

* * *

Tony bolts out of the car as soon as Rhodey pulls up, barely hearing his friend’s promise to follow as soon as he’s parked. He shoots straight past the reception desk and heads for the paediatric unit.

He sees Mr and Mrs Davis holding their two daughters, the other families wrapped around their kids, so where…?

“Dad!”

Tony spins around just in time to catch the blur of brown curls as it barrels into his arms, rocking backwards with the impact.

“Hey! God, Pete–“

“Sorry,” Peter whispers, “I didn’t know what was happening, but they kept telling me my dad was on his way so I guessed that’s what you went with–“

“No, you did good,” Tony mumbles, “you did so so good, buddy. God, it’s so good to see you.” He presses his lips to the top of Peter’s head, unsure whether he’s still acting or not. “You had me worried, you – don’t ever do that again!”

“Did you kill it?”

“Yeah.” It’s dead. It’s dead and Peter’s okay. Peter’s _alive_. “Yeah, I got it.”

“Okay, good.” Peter lets out a shaky laugh. “‘Cause that was one ugly fucker.”

“Mr Parker?” a nurse shouts. “Mr Parker, your son shouldn’t be out of bed. He’s still recovering.”

“Pete…” Tony says.

“I wanted to see you!” Peter pulls back, his expression beseeching, and Tony forgets he’s supposed to be mad.

“Okay, let’s – back to bed, come on.” Tony tugs Peter over to where the nurse is pointing, just as reluctant to let go as Peter apparently is. “Sit down, kid, you nearly died.” _He nearly died_. “Hey, look, I hate to ask this, but…what do you remember?”

“Um…” Peter stares off into the distance for a moment. “It…I think I’d nodded off? Yeah, ‘cause I remember waking up and it was right there – I couldn’t even yell for you before it…and you were here, anyway.”

“Shit, kid, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it wasn’t your fault.” Peter smirks. “It totally looked like a Dementor, though.”

“Oh, you…”

* * *

It takes two days for the hospital to discharge Peter, which Mr Stark spends keeping him company while Rhodey carries on his CDC pretence. It could be worse, Peter supposes. There are far worse people to be with him while he’s trapped in bed.

“You hungry?” Mr Stark asks for what seems like the hundredth time today.

“You _just_ got me lunch, Mr Stark.”

“Gotta build you up, though, right?” Mr Stark reaches out and rubs Peter’s cheek with his thumb; it’s so paternal that warmth bubbles up through his chest. “You need anything, you tell me, okay?”

“Of course, yeah.”

The on-duty nurse leaves and Mr Stark sits back a little as she walks past.

Right. They’re only pretending.

Mr Stark still doesn’t leave, though. He hesitates to even go and fill his water bottle, his gaze lingering on Peter across the room.

“How you doing, kid?” Rhodey joins him on one of the rare occasions Mr Stark can be persuaded to leave Peter’s side.

“I’m fine, seriously.” Peter stretches. “Just can’t wait to get out of here. I bet Mr Stark’s bored of playing happy families, too, so…”

“You kidding?” Rhodey stares at him like he’s insane. “Peter, he was scared out of his mind. I don’t think I’ve seen him like that, ever.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really, kid. He cares about you a lot, you know.” Rhodey clears his throat and nods. “Hey, Tones.”

“What are you two whispering about over here?” Mr Stark slides back into his seat.

“Just sharing fond memories of my hospital stays,” Rhodey says.

“Ah, well, we’ve had plenty of those.” Mr Stark ruffles Peter’s hair, something guilty flashing in his eyes. “I’d rather not see you in one of these beds anytime soon, kid, and especially not because of me.”

“Mr Stark, no–“

“Tony,” Rhodey says sternly.

“Okay, so your training from now on is going to focus on offence as well as defence. You need to be able to get things before they get you. I want you to take over, Rhodey, because clearly what I was teaching him isn’t enough–“

“Mr Stark–“

“And you’re gonna be with one of us at all times when we’re out on hunts, you got that? No–“

“Dad!” Peter yells. The family across the ward jump a little, but don’t turn and stare, which was the aim. Mr Stark, on the other hand, freezes. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“It’s nice you think that, kid, but if I’d let you come with us, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“You were just trying to keep me safe.”

“Well, yes, but–“

“And you still got the – what was it called? The Dementor thing?”

“A shtriga,” Mr Stark says, and his lips twitch with amusement.

“And obviously I don’t mind being with one of you on cases, but I…like you training me.”

“Even when I’m being mean?”

“Even when you’re being mean.”

“Okay, then. Compromise. I can work with that.”

Peter grins and Mr Stark ruffles his hair again; it feels familiar, like _home_.

* * *

They let him out the next day. Rhodey has far too much fun pushing him along in the wheelchair (and Peter really thought he was the mature one). Mr Stark brings the car around to the entrance, but gets out and gestures for Rhodey to get in the driver’s seat.

“Come on, kid, shift up.”

“You serious?” Peter moves across the backseat anyway.

“You still look too cold for my liking. Pretty sure if state officials saw us right now, they’d take you away on the spot. Legally required to keep you healthy, all that fun stuff.” He doesn’t say it like Peter’s a burden, though. “Just watching to make sure you survive the journey.”

“I’ll do my best,” Peter drawls, but he can’t hide his grin as he puts his earphones in.

He dozes, drifting in and out of sleep, finding himself in a different position each time he wakes up. Somehow, his head ends up on Mr Stark’s shoulder, and he can’t find a reason to move it. Neither can Mr Stark, if the way he’s gently playing with Peter’s hair is anything to go by. Until now, Peter’s always been the one to initiate whatever contact they had, but he’s not complaining.

At some point, Peter’s phone runs out of battery and his music stops, but he keeps pretending to be asleep. He has a feeling that if Mr Stark knew he was awake, he’d pull away and make an awkward joke about it. No, the fingers stroking through his hair are soothing him, reassuring him that they’re all safe; he wants to stay like this as long as possible.

“So,” Rhodey says, “we gonna talk about it yet?”

Mr Stark sighs, leaning over Peter as if to check he’s sleeping. “How about never?”

“Not an option.”

“Fine. What?”

“The kid.”

“Yes.”

“You love him.”

“And what about it?”

Peter can barely keep his eyes from shooting open in shock. _Mr Stark didn’t say no he didn’t say no–_

“And it scares the shit out of you.”

“Well, damn, I wonder why,” Mr Stark drawls. “It’s not like that thing went after him to _warn_ us.”

“He doesn’t blame you.”

“He should.”

It’s Rhodey’s turn to sigh. “Remember what I told you?”

“You tell me a lot of things.” There’s a wry smile in Mr Stark’s voice; Peter can practically see it. “You’re usually right, though.”

“Damn straight,” Rhodey laughs. “It’s okay. He loves you, too.”

James Rhodes is psychic and it’s absolutely terrifying.

“Yeah?”

“_Yes_, Tony. Look at him.”

Mr Stark pauses. “You’re right.”

“Yeah, we’ve just been through that.”

“I mean, I am scared. Terrified. I don’t have the first clue about how to do…this.”

“I think you’ll find you’re doing it. You’re not your father.”

“No, my father would’ve thrown me straight for the monster without any way to defend myself – oh, wait.”

“You were trying to keep him safe. That’s why he’s here, right? You want to keep him safe.”

“Well, _duh_. I just…I still have a bad feeling, like – like something’s coming, something bad, and I don’t know what – if it’s coming for him, or us, or everything. That demon didn’t kill him, and the witch said he was _interesting_.” Mr Stark’s voice wavers. “I need to keep him safe, but I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if I can, Rhodey, and that scares me. It shouldn’t, but…”

What are they talking about? Should the demon have killed him? Do they know something Peter doesn’t?

“It doesn’t make you weak, Tones.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“I…” Rhodey pauses, considering his words. “I don’t think you know how much harder you fight when you have something to fight for.”

Mr Stark’s hand leaves Peter’s hair, drawing an involuntary whimper, and the man laughs gently. “Still here, buddy.”

“He still asleep?”

“Yeah.” A thumb strokes across Peter’s cheek, just like it had in the hospital. “Just clingy.”

“Well, that’s nothing new.” Rhodey snorts. “You love it.”

“Maybe.”

“You do.”

“I like knowing he’s here.”

“Yeah.” Rhodey makes an amused noise. “Always knew you’d be a good one.”

“What?”

“A dad.”

“I’m not – well, legally–“

“I _know_. But still: you are.”

“Oh, shit.” Mr Stark sounds horrified. Does he regret this after all? “I really am.”

“Congratulations, it’s a boy.”

“Rhodey, dear?”

“Yes?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Rhodey’s answering bark of laughter makes Peter jolt in surprise, his head sliding into Mr Stark’s lap. He whines in protest and screws his eyes shut, hoping to convince them that he’s just woken up.

“Ignore him, Pete. He’s an idiot,” Mr Stark murmurs. “You see what you did, Rhodes? You woke my kid up. Just out of the hospital, and you just had to wake him up.”

Whatever Rhodey answers is lost when Peter finds his spot on Mr Stark’s shoulder again with a contented hum.

_My kid_. He likes the sound of that.

**Author's Note:**

> as with the show itself, there will be some episodes that advance the plot and some that are just fillers but still develop the characters - this was clearly the latter lol. that being said! if any of you watch supernatural and have any particular episodes you want to see, or even if you don't but have an idea for a case or a monster, let me know and i'll see if i can fit it in.
> 
> i'm on tumblr @akillerqueenwrites, or my main blog @akillerqueenyouare. come say hi, ask questions, leave prompts or just yell at me. thank you for reading!


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